


Poolhall Hustlers

by AlleiraDayne



Series: The End [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Gambling, Pool & Billiards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 14:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12037371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Hunters in the Supernatural Universe, Amallia and Cullen Rutherford try to hustle a guy at pool for some cash and a hot meal. But Cullen doesn't recognize her mark until it's nearly too late.





	Poolhall Hustlers

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/36904565096/in/datetaken-public/)

“Find a mark yet?” Cullen asked as he took a seat on a stool beside his partner.

A coy smirk crooked Amallia’s lips as she spoke. “Pool table, six o’clock. Looks like he’s been running the table for a few hours.”

With a casual turn, Cullen glanced over his shoulder. New patrons crowded the bar, surrounding them in a bid to reach the server, forcing him to lean. The single pool table sat beneath an overhead light, one bulb burnt out, and the other too dim by half. Ragged resin pool balls littered the table, a fresh match starting. And then he spotted Amallia’s mark; attractive, with light brown hair and a cocky smile, Cullen guessed the man to be in his late 30s. Behind him at the high top sat another man, darker brown hair worn long and his face buried in his laptop screen.

After his opponent missed his shot, the target took up a stance behind the cue ball, sinking the next three shots, and Cullen questioned his wife’s sanity.

“He’s good,” Cullen started, watching the other man bank a particularly clever shot. “Really good.”

“Yeah, but I’m better,” Amallia replied with a wink over her glass of whiskey as she hopped from her bar stool and sauntered over to the rack of cues, examining them with a trained eye.

All three men at the pool table cast long gazes after her, the target pausing at his next shot too long. A sharp shake of his head failed to refocus him, and he struck the cue ball too sharp, sending it sailing down the table to smack into a solid that missed the corner pocket by a mile. The man behind him at the high top scoffed with a roll of his eyes, at which the target shrugged with a sly smile.

Shit. She _was_ better. He owed her, later, after she lined their pockets with cash for the next month and packed their stomachs full of a meal more nutritious than gas station snacks. She might even work an extra week or two out of the poor fool.

The younger man at the computer waved the target over as Amallia selected a cue and approached the table. She spoke to the opponent first, offering her roll of twenties and placed it on the overhead light to keep her spot in line. The man shrugged, indifferent to the next challenger as he lined up his shot.

When the target returned, Cullen stood and repositioned himself at the bar to watch without suspicion. At the end of the bar, he sat as the target greeted Amallia with his best smile, a firm handshake, and a hug she returned with eager warmth.  Words exchanged between them, and with a gesture to the man sitting at the high top, he introduced her. The other man waved, half-hearted and smile short, enraptured by the content of his laptop. Her target offered her a seat, and she took it with a quick smile and a sweet thank you as he returned to the current match.

At the table, Amallia picked up casual conversation, and the man with the long brown hair diverted his attention without hesitation. From his seat, smiling and laughing with her, and Cullen read a few words here and there, “brother” among them. The fine hairs on his arms stood on end, rising with the subtle discomfort of warning, of something dangerously close to wrong. That nagging, gnawing worry at the base of his skull creeped ever higher, tingling through his scalp and numbing his fingers.

When the match ended, the target clapped his challenger on the back with another cocky grin as he handed him a large roll of twenties. Stomping away, he slammed the cue home on the rack, snatched his leather jacket from a stool, and marched through the front door. Back at the pool table, the two men were chatting with Amallia, the target leaning on his cue as he stood next to whom Cullen assumed was his brother.

_Brother._

_Shit_.

Amallia wasted no time starting her hustle. A nominal shooter, Amallia backed up decent talk. But her ability to flirt with _anybody_ drew in the suckers, leaving them scratching their heads when she walked away with their night’s bankroll. Playful shoves at the target’s shoulder contrasted with her lilting laughter heard above the din of the dingy tavern, and his toothy smile mirrored hers. Engaged so, Cullen lacked the opportunity to interrupt, to signal for an abort-mission before she regretted that night, regretted hustling and taking money from fellow _hunters_ , and not just _any_ hunters, _but the god damn fucking Winchesters_.

 _Son of a bitch_.

Dean shuffled closer to Amallia, a hand slipping to the small of her back as they continued to chat, and Cullen caught Amallia’s favorite phrase to hustle.

“You wanna get out of here?”

God, how lazy? Did Dean Winchester think he’d take home any woman with a lame pickup line? Even if he did, how had he judged Amallia so wrong? Ever sweet, Amallia smiled her sparkling smile and smoothed a hand over his shoulder. With a few suggestive looks, a bite of her bottom lip, and words drenched in honey, she convinced Dean to play her in a round of pool.

Time ran thin, speeding out of his control as he watched Dean setting the rack. And then he offered the break to Amallia, who thanked him with a scrunch of her nose and an adorable hitch of her shoulder. To the end of the table she stalked, placing her shot left of center with the cue ball. Blue chalk wafted from the tip of her cue, and then Dean committed his first mistake.

He turned his back on her.

The crack of the stick on the white cue ball settled a hush over the bar, stories stopping short and heads turning. The thunderous crash of resin on resin followed in the blink of an eye, sending the billiards racing across the table. Two pocketed, a stripe and a solid, leaving her to choose on her next shot.

Behind Amallia, Sam appraised his brother’s gaping face with wide eyes, pursed lips, and a shake of his head. How often did this sort of thing happen?

Out of time, he needed to act now. If he let them go on too long, he might not find the chance to interrupt. As Amallia surveyed the field from the near side of the table, he slipped from his stool and approached her with a casual saunter.

“Mal, I have to tell you something,” he muttered under his breath.

Her spine stiffened, straight as a rail at the sound of his voice, but she retained her study of the pool table, chalking the tip of her cue again.

“I’m. Busy,” she spat through gritted teeth as she leaned over the table to take the next shot.

Dean’s glare found his as Cullen chanced a nervous glance his way, regret sinking in his stomach. With a twitching smile and a quick wave, he hoped to fend him off for another second. “Do you know who you’re hustling?”

The cue spun away as Amallia banked a solid into the corner pocket in front of her. “Yeah, the guy right there. I pointed him out to you already,” she hissed through a sultry smile and a rub of his arm. “I just need an hour.”

Dean read their act in a hot second, rounding the table in a rush like a bull ready to charge.

“Seriously, Mal, look at them!” Cullen insisted as he shifted closer to her.

“Do you know him? Is he bothering you?” Dean demanded.

“No, I _don’t_ , but he’s _not_ bothering me,” Amallia declared, her fierce blue eyes locked on Cullen’s.

“What’s the deal, pal?” Dean asked. “Can’t you see the lady’s busy?”

 _God dammit_. “I was just asking here where she learned to shoot. I thought I recognized her from the local pool hall,” he excused. “I was wrong, but I still thought maybe I could learn a thing or two if I watched your match. I was just asking if I could watch.”

Dean eyed them both, shifting between himself and Amallia, who did her best to appear annoyed with the interruption. “It’s up to you, sweetheart. Doesn’t bother me none if he watches. Just wanted to make sure he wasn’t creepin’ on you.”

_Wrong move, buddy._

Amallia’s darkened scowl echoed a memory long forgotten, over a decade old. Cullen once received that dour glare when he, too, had behaved liked Dean.

“Hey!” she barked as she stepped toe to toe with Dean, her back straight and shoulders square. “Don’t you ever assume I need your help. Ever. Got it?”

And where Cullen took that warning to heart all those years ago, Dean might as well have ignored her. Smarm thicker than honey dripped from his charming smile as he said, “No problem, darlin’, I know you can take care of yourself.”

Then Dean Winchester committed his second and final mistake of the night. Amallia didn’t believe in three strikes. And when Dean pressed his hand to the small of her back, squeezing their bodies flush, she marked strike two.

In a flurry of limbs, the pool cue crashed to the floor, and Amallia pinned Dean to the table. With his arm wrenched behind his back and wrist torqued in a painful submission hold, he froze, unable to move.

Sam flew from his barstool and shouted, but skidded to halt when Cullen leapt between him and the table. Jesus Christ, what a cluster fuck. Diffusing the tension required tact, but Cullen’s head spun with such confusion, not a single explanation breached the fog. And no excuse sufficed, nothing short of the truth at least, and so, he tossed his chances to fate.

“Mal, it’s the fucking Winchesters!”

Time froze. Frozen, Sam remained by the pool table, stunned by Cullen’s shout. Both looked to Amallia to find her fury fading, replaced by apoplectic shock as she too stood still as stone, seized by the revelation.

“I kinda like my arm not being broken, sweetheart,” Dean muttered from the pool table.

She snatched her hands back, shaking fingers covering her mouth as Dean stood and righted his shirt. Picking up the pool cue, he handed it back to Amallia, but she made no move to take it from him.

“You want to finish your hustle or what? ‘Cause, I can tell you, you’re gonna kick my ass, I’m terrible at pool,” Dean insisted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, one hand running through her hair and the other finding her hip. “How’d you know I was hustling you?”

Dean regarded Cullen and Sam before explaining. “Something seemed weird when he showed up,” he started with a thumb jabbing at Cullen. “I figured then you were in it together. But I didn’t think you recognized us.”

When Amallia still refused to take the cue, Dean set it on the pool table and smiled. “Look, no hard feelings, okay?” he said as he held out his hand. “We’ll start over. I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam.”

A slow, tentative hand reached for his, but grasp it she did, firm and steady. “Amallia Rutherford.”

Released, Dean turned to him, his hand waiting for his and an easy smile on his face. Heart racing and mind yet clouded in confusion, Cullen glanced to Sam before taking Dean’s hand. “Cullen Rutherford.”

Confused glares passed between the two men before Dean asked, “You’re married?”

Digging in his pocket, Cullen withdrew their rings, holding hers out for Amallia to take. Passed Dean she stepped, grabbing her band from his outstretched hand and then made for her jacket.

“Ten years this October,” Cullen stated, pride welling in his chest. “She always has my six. Best hunter I’ve ever met. Well… until now.”

Sam shook his head. “She had us fooled until you showed up. I wouldn’t mind someone like that behind me,” he jested as he gave his brother a pat on the back.

“Except I always go in first,” Dean stated.

“Sure,” Cullen shot back with his own cocky grin. “I believe you.”

Sam chuckled as he grabbed up his coat and laptop. “Let’s get out of here, there’s a diner down the street, we’ll get you dinner.”

Cullen stuttered an excuse, awkward and fumbling his words. “No, we wouldn’t want to impose—”

The taller man clapped a hand to his shoulder and Cullen startled. “It’s nothing. Hunters gotta look out for each other. You wouldn’t be imposing.”

He looked to Amallia then, his wife, his partner in this crazy, insane, fucked up world that didn’t even know people like them existed. And for the first time in ages, they were amongst family. He smiled at that, marveling at the coincidence; of all the hunters to cross their path, they happened upon Sam and Dean Winchester

In a blur of purple hair, Amallia leaped to Dean, her arms wrapping behind his neck as she laughed, giddy with excitement. When he returned her hug, Cullen cleared his throat.

“Just remember what she can do to your arm.”

“Stop it, Cullen,” Amallia chided before Dean could respond. “It’s not like he was groping me,” she added as she parted from him.

Sam laughed again as he threw on his coat and headed for the door, Amallia on his heels. “I’m starving and we’ve got a long night ahead of us, so let’s get going.”

Cullen followed, grabbing his coat at the door and shrugging it over his shoulders. Through the door they passed, crisp fall air filling his lungs and clearing his head. Across the lot, Sam and Dean lead them to a black Chevy Impala, a ’67 he guessed, in pristine condition. There, Sam took the passenger seat in front, and Amallia climbed in behind him.

“We’ll bring you back to your car later,” Dean started as he hopped in the driver’s seat. “You’re gonna love this diner, they have amazing pie.”

Cullen hummed his indifference as he took the remaining spot behind Dean. “I dunno, I’ve always been more of a cake guy myself,” he stated.

Dean said nothing for fifteen whole minutes, for Sam Winchester cackled the entire drive to the diner.


End file.
